


And it Kept Spinning, Just for Them

by rachelsdl



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Basically, M/M, bucky is kind of depressed, but not really, hes dealing with guilt, hes just sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-14 07:10:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8003197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rachelsdl/pseuds/rachelsdl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No museum exhibit, no walk down old Brooklyn streets made him feel like the Bucky he had read about. He didn’t know what it was like to feel carefree, to dance with a beautiful women, but only have eyes for Steve in the end. He didn't know what it was like to laugh so hard it hurt. He only knew pain. It was like an extension that hydra had given him, as much as they'd given him a new arm. It was part of him now, this pain. He carried it with him everywhere.<br/>He only knew pain. It was like an extension that Hydra had given him, as much as they'd given him a new arm. It was part of him now, this pain. He carried it with him everywhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And it Kept Spinning, Just for Them

Everything about Bucky was different. Different from 1945. Different from the boy who grew up in Brooklyn. Different from the kid that Steve knew. Yeah, everything was different since 1945, but everything was different since the bridge too. The Winter Soldier, as Bucky learned to know himself as, was in fact not who he was at all. 

Who the hell is Bucky?

It was a moment that turned his brain into a jumbled mess of lies he’d been taught, knowledge he wished he had not lost, and memories he knew he should have, but couldn’t grasp from the tip of where they lay: between him and a huge leap of faith he’d never been able to fully take. 

But since the bridge, since but I knew him, he’d learned who 1945 Bucky was piece by piece. It wasn't who he was now, not even close, but he was learning who he had been in years past. He’d also learned about the ghost story of the Winter Soldier, though he knew that version of him better than the stories. 

1945 Bucky grew up in Brooklyn with a scrawny boy named Steve. His best friend, his confidant, his brother. Well, 1945 Bucky had thought Steve was his brother, but 2016 Bucky could see it as something different. Couldn't feel it, but he could see what it really had been. Late nights wrapped in Steve’s arms for warmth when they had no heat, learning how to cook awful meals with what little food his mother had been able to buy them, holding Steve through the worst of a coughing fit, bailing him out of a fight: it was love. Some would say brotherly love because in 1945 it had to be brotherly love. Bucky wouldn't have been able to go off to war if it was anything but. Steve would have been getting beat for more reasons that just his stubbornness. But it was love. True, undeniable love. But the Bucky he knew now couldn't feel 1945 Bucky’s love for Steve. And Bucky didn't love Steve now: they were different people. 

He couldn't feel and it was driving Bucky up a wall. No matter what he did, no matter what he read, no matter who he met, he felt lifeless. He felt like the Winter Soldier without a mission who had somehow escaped cryo. No museum exhibit, no walk down old Brooklyn streets made him feel like the Bucky he had read about. He didn’t know what it was like to feel carefree, to dance with a beautiful women, but only have eyes for Steve in the end. He didn't know what it was like to laugh so hard it hurt. He only knew pain. It was like an extension that Hydra had given him, as much as they'd given him a new arm. It was part of him now, this pain. He carried it with him everywhere. 

But Steve.

Steve. He had known Steve. ‘Cause I'm with you till the end of the line. It must have been an I love you of sorts to them in the 40s. It had somehow registered with Bucky then, though he had no idea what it had meant. Didn't know the weight it carried: still didn't fully know the weight it carried really. 

Steve had found him in his apartment, had fought for him. Was willing to die for him. Was willing to let him chose to go back into cryo for the time being. Because Steve could feel. Steve still loved him. He’s my friend. Steve had a way of saying I love you without saying I love you. Even though Bucky couldn't say it back, he could still decipher Steve the same way he had been able too in the 40s. 

One thing about him was the same at least. 

Sometimes Bucky wondered if he simply wouldn't let himself feel again because he was afraid of the consequences. Surely there would be some after almost fifty years of being a brainless machine. There had to be some sort of backlash or overload. Sometimes he thought he could love Steve, if he’d just let himself be open to that. 

I don’t know if I’m worth all of this, Steve. 

But Steve had known he was worth it. Had never given a second thought to his worthiness. He knew. Even after what he’d done. He had known. It was moments like that, where Bucky wanted to open himself up to that love. To those feelings. He hoped he could, he hadn’t at that moment exactly, but one day maybe. 

Those moments brought him back to the 40s, desperately grasping onto the feeling of Steve’s cold skin under the palm of his hand. The way Steve’s hair would fall into his eyes when he coughed too hard. 

One day he knew he’d have enough guts to kiss Steve. He knew he’d be able to feel that. There’s no way he couldn't. He looked at Steve now, and wanted to give him the world. He looked at Steve as though he hung the moon and the stars, but that’s only because he did just that. And sure, he didn't love Steve, but boy did he wish he could. Sometimes he wanted to go back to 1945 and figure out just what that Bucky had been thinking not telling Steve he loved him. He wanted to know why he hadn’t told Steve that he was his everything. It was 1945, and boys didn’t love other boys, but they could have loved each other, in their own silent way.

Cus I’m with you till the end of the line, pal. 

He remembered that. He remembered asking Steve to live with him after his mom died, oh god how he wished Steve would live with him. How he had wanted to drag Steve back to his own Brooklyn apartment and say, “This was you home anyways, I was your home anyways.” Because Steve had sure as hell been his home. 

Seventeen.

Longing.

There’s no question behind what those words had meant. How many times had he screamed for Steve before they had silenced him for another couple years? How many people in the streets had caught his attention because of a small similarity. The thing about having your memories taken from you was that anything could bring them back. 

First he felt lost. Who the hell is Bucky? First, it felt like he couldn’t possibly remember something. And then it felt like a stab right into the most vulnerable parts of his body. It was a gradual remembering. Sometimes the images would come first, other times the words. But you’re keeping the outfit? Other times it was a smell, or feeling of carpet in his toes. Or a taste of beer from the local bar. You know me. He should have known him, but he’d still only had pieces. It was a broken puzzle, with missing pieces that he’d only recover if he didn’t go back to Hydra. 

So, he’d pulled him out of the river. He was important, he just didn't know why yet. He would find out later. And the pieces came back at the most inconvenient times. Reading a book, or riding the bus. Walking down a crowded street, or just laying in bed wishing he could sleep. 

Piece by piece, he learned a life that he had lived but couldn’t feel. And day by day the world kept spinning as though nothing had changed. When everything had changed. He had changed. Steve had changed. Brooklyn for god's sake had changed. Probably more so than either of them. 

So, he’d start over. Sure, he couldn't remember all of his past, and he’d always feel detached from his past, but he could have a future, right? He deserved a future? A fresh start? The Winter Soldier told him he didn't deserve a fresh start at all, but he tried his best to ignore that and push forward. So, he’d buy a plant for his dinky apartment. It will bring life, just make sure and give it lots of water, he could hear Steve tell him in his ear, even though he was continents away. And he’d bought a notebook to write memories down in, so he could never forget again. He’d found a picture of Steve. He’d bought fresh food from the market. He’d tried to care less about his escape routes, and more about meeting his neighbors. But it was hard. It was hard to do when he was alone. It was hard to do when there was a phantom of Steve’s body lying next to him at night, begging to be explored, but none when he turned to caress it. 

He wanted Steve. He wanted Steve, even though they were both different. And damn it all, he deserved happiness. Steve would say so, he thinks. He’d made it to the twenty fucking first century, and, by some fucking freak accident or miracle, Steve had made it there with him. And what kind of two idiots would they be if they didn't at least try and figure out what they meant to each other. 

And so when Steve had showed back up in his life, sifting through his journal, reassuring him of his safety (even with the SWAT team beating down his door, that was the Steve from Brooklyn alright), he’d trusted him. He fought with him, for him, to keep him safe because if there was something, anything, Bucky could do it was save Steve. The Winter Soldier might not deserve saving, but Steve sure as hell did. So he’d fought, and he’d fought again, and he fought one last time for his life. And came out on the other side with Steve right by him. 

The monsters that haunted him, had pulled him down at the last second. He could only hope so much. 

I remember them all.

So, he’d gone back into cryo, and he’d stay there until who knows how long. 

T’Challa had pulled him out only ten months later, with some way to potentially get the triggers out of his head. And Steve, he’d been there waiting for him. Just like he’d hoped he would be. 

The deep, blue hope that Bucky saw in Steve’s eyes were enough to deny going back in cryo, no matter the results of whatever plan they had. He was ready. He was ready to build a life, in this new, advanced century. In this century where men could love men. He was ready, no matter his past, no matter the devil on his back, come high water and hell, he was ready. He was ready to hold Steve in his arms, if he’d have him. He was ready for it all. To tell Steve what memories he had. To tell Steve the good and the bad. To trust Steve with his life again. 

Steve had always been his other half. There was no way he could deny it, when the world kept spinning for seventy years, and they had still ended up here, together. The world had kept spinning, he was sure, just so that Steve and Bucky could be here, right now, together. 

Bucky had hoped for a lot of things in his lifetime, but he’d had no higher hopes than for this new life he wanted to live with Steve with him every step of the way. And when Steve asked him to come home with him, when it was all said and done, Bucky couldn’t do anything but nod.

**Author's Note:**

> First ever post on ao3, and first time writing stevebucky. let me know what you think?
> 
> Talk to me on tumblr maybe?  
> hoebarnes.tumblr.com


End file.
